


"Where do you want me?"

by AtoTheBean



Series: Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, M/M, Prompt Fill, team!QBranch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: For the Prompts:Model!Bond and Photographer!Q"Bond, James Bond"





	"Where do you want me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the mood board if you want to see the lovely picspriation for this fic: https://ato-the-bean.tumblr.com/post/175518825260/moodboard-for-my-007-fest-prompt-fill-where-do

“That’s lovely! Right there,” Q says, shutter clicking away rapid fire. “Now turn to your right… Yes. And turn your head back to me… tilt it down… good, a little to the left. Good. Good. That’s perfect. Now, straight into the camera...pouty lips. Perfect, darling. And now… like you want to eviscerate me.”

“I do want to eviscerate you,” came the clenched reply.

“No, you don’t. Okay, break.” Q pulls back from the camera and scrolls through the images on the tiny LCD screen on the back of the camera, hoping the lens caught what he’d seen. It had. _Beautifully._ He removes the camera from the tripod and approaches the model.

“They’ve made a horrible mistake hiring you for this campaign.”

“Oh?” Arched eyebrow. Hand on jutted-out hip. Offended.

“Look,” he says, turning the screen toward her and scrolling through the images. “No one else will ever look as good in this dress. They won’t sell a single one, because everyone will _know_ they can’t compete.”

Eve’s smile flashes brilliantly white against mocha lips. “Why Q, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hitting on me.”

Q snorts. Loudly. “Well, you _do_ know better, so off you go. Pip pip.” He swats at her as she giggles and moves away from the lights and backdrop. “Make room for…” he looks at the chalkboard in the corner of the room. “Chester Barrie, oh suits… that’ll be a nice change.” He looks over to the last two people standing at the edge of the studio. A very posh looking — very _frustrated_ looking — man in a black suit and striped red tie, and a shorter man in charcoal grey three-piece and blue tie. Rugged features. Short cropped hair.

Q waves them over, hoping the second man is his model, because the first looks constipated, and that’s never a good look. Especially when trying to sell something.

“We’ve been waiting since half four,” ugly red tie grumbles.

“And my day should be done,” Q counters breezily, “but I’m doing your boss a favor and squeezing you in. Now, let’s have a look at you.” He turns to the model, who is now standing a bit straighter and puffing his chest under the scrutiny. Which is the sign of a beginner, frankly, and makes Q worry that he’s in for a long evening.

“Liz, can you get all of this out of the way for me, please?” He motions at the props used for the last shoot. “And I need the dove grey backdrop.”

“The taupey one?” she asks, already in motion.

“No,” he says studying the man’s features and the charcoal of the suit again. The model meets his eyes. “No… number four, I think it is. The cool grey.”

As Lizzie gets the backdrop changed, Q moves Mr. Arctic Eyes into position with the tug of his sleeve and fiddles with the reflectors, illuminating his face. The man is not traditionally handsome. Nor is he pretty. But there’s something very compelling about his expression. It could almost be confidence, if his body language weren’t so obviously uncertain under Q’s intense observations. And his eyes are amazing. “Do you have another tie?” he asks turning back to constipated red-tie guy.

The man rolls his eyes. “The tie is fine. It’s blue. His eyes are blue. It works.”

“Yes, yes, his eyes are ‘blue’. Shall we hit the viewer over the head with it? And I’m not selling his _eyes_ , I’m trying to sell this suit, which is completely overwhelmed by that tie. Never mind that his eyes are arctic blue, _possibly_ cerulean, and yet the tie is _lapis_. Too purple, by far. And it’s shiny.”

Mr. Constipation just waves his arms and walks away, grumbling.

“I’m not wrong,” Q calls after him. When he gets no response, he turns to Lizzie.

“Already got it, Boss,” she answers, putting a briefcase on the table and snicking it open. Two dozen ties are laid out, color coordinated, from red to violet, like a muted rainbow. They both study the options, then turn to the model — who raises an eyebrow as they look him over.

“This one,” Q says, pulling out a slate grey with just a touch of blue in a subtle pattern. The holds it up to the against the jacket and shirt, blotting out the lapis. Yes, much better.

“Take that off,” he orders, startled when the model actually chuckles before complying.

“I had that knot perfect,” Mr. Constipation complains.

“Oh, and I can’t tie a Windsor,” Q mutters as he slides the new tie around the collar, fingers moving quickly. He glances up to find to cool, blue eyes watching him intently, a small smirk on the man’s face as Q unbuttons the waistcoat and smooths the tie down. “Remember that look,” Q says as he refastens the buttons. “I’ll want it for the camera. There.” He steps back, taking the lapis tie and tossing it aside. “Better. Anything I need to work in?” he calls out. “Props? A particular mood?”

Red tie shakes his head. “Gerald says you’re the best, and whatever you think is fine. He wasn’t happy with the photos we got from Daniel Brady. So here we are, after hours.”

“And grumpy,” Q adds under his breath. “What was wrong with them?” he asks, loud enough to be heard. “Can I see them?”

“He says they’re boring.” He hands Q a folder.

They _are_ boring. And oddly frenetic. The model, in the suit by a sports car surrounded by… gala attendees? All too refined and _prancy_ for the rugged looks of this model or the severe lines of the suit. This man is athletic, strong... could be powerful in business. The suit fits him like a glove. People seeing him should want to _be_ him. See themselves in him. Buy the suit in hopes of embodying him. Hardly any men dream of going to galas.

“Okay. What do we have?” He shifts the reflector again. The light from the windows is changing quickly. The sun is setting, and it’s possibly a problem. Artificial light won’t be as good. He looks through the camera and snaps several shots to get a sense of how the camera is getting this.

“Look straight at the lens… I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Bond, James Bond,” the model answers, lowering his chin and looking intently at the camera.

It’s good. It’s pretty good. Bond James Bond may not have a ton of experience, but he shifts slightly between shots to give Q more to work with.

“I’m Q,” he adds belatedly, still distracted as he studies the shots he’s getting and moves the tripod again.

“I’m aware,” James says, the smirk back and _yes_. That’s better. Still rather flat though.

“Um, let’s try... “ He looks at the light coming from the window. It’s moved again and is creating shadows. Q could keep fighting it, but maybe the drama would help. He moves the reflector again, this time, leaving part of James' face in shadow. The effect is immediate. Those compelling features pop, and the reflector is just highlighting those blue eyes. “Okay, right here.” He points to the lens. “You’re not amused. You’re calculating. Sussing out the best way to get what you want. Good. That’s…” he looks at the LCD screen, and that’s better. He moves the tripod and James follows him, keeping his eye on the lens. He takes about ten like this, sure there’s something good in this set.

“Let’s have you sitting. Lizzie, the club chair, please?”

“Are you almost done?” Constipation is back. And no, Q isn’t done. He’s barely started. He’s just now learning how to light James properly. And every time _this_ man speaks, James expression shutters. It’s not helping.

“Am I keeping you from a date?” he asks, motioning for James to sit.

“You are, actually.”

“Well then go. You aren’t helping here, anyway. Arms relaxed,” he suggests quietly to James. “Legs crossed. I want you relaxed everywhere but your face. Confident, relaxed, but with an intense expression. You want something, and you’re still sorting out how best to get it.”

That earns a brief raise of an eyebrow, but then he’s got the expression, and _yes._ Q retreats to the tripod and gets several shots.

“That suit costs eight thousand quid. I’m not leaving without it.”

James rolls his eyes, and Q has had enough. “I’ll deliver it Monday when I bring the proofs,” he snaps. “I want you out.”

Constipation is fuming now. “I don’t know why Gerald puts up with you.”

“Likewise. We’re not going to get anywhere with you disturbing us. Go on your fucking date and leave the work to us.”

He’s looking through the camera again as the door slams, but it’s worth it as he sees James’ shoulders relax. “Better. Okay, Lizzie, remove that reflector.”

“You’ll get a shadow behind him, Boss.”

“I’m aware.” It’s normally bad form, but he likes the _film noir_ feel of it. “James, turn away from the camera, please, toward the window. Yes, good.” He takes several in this pose, moving the tripod to get it from different angles. It looks almost like journalism. Like he’s catching James in the act of something and he’s unaware of the camera. There’s drama here, even if it’s subtle.

“Boss?”

“Yes?”

“I have to leave now if I’m going to get across town in time to get Keira.”

“Oh shit!” He looks at the clock. “Sorry, love. Go get your kid. Have a lovely weekend.”

“You’re sure? I can call a neighbor.”

“No. I can wrap this up. I’ve got…” He shrugs. He probably has enough for the ad, but he still feels there’s some potential he’s missing. But it’s late. “You go. Pip pip.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

She’s out the door in a hurry, probably already later than she let on. Q sighs and scrolls through the images. There are some good ones. Possibly enough. He wishes he’d had more time, though. And the light’s changing again.

“I don’t mind staying on,” James says.

Q looks up startled.

“If you don’t have what you want yet, I don’t mind staying.”

Q bites his lips. “I probably have enough for the ad, I just…”

“You’re an artist and you’re just getting into it. Like I said, I don’t mind staying.”

He’s looking straight at Q, straight at the camera, and Q can’t help but snap another picture. “If you really don’t mind… the light’s getting interesting.”

James nods, and that little smirk is back. “We wouldn’t want to miss the interesting light.”

Well, far be it from Q to kick a beautiful man out of his studio. “Let’s take a quick break and relax. I’ll move all of this closer to the window. Maybe pour a scotch for you to hold...like you’re done with your meetings.”

“And drink?”

Q nods. “If you like.” He’s going to have one, too. It’s after hours… he’s allowed.

“Mind if I have a smoke?”

Q just waves his hand and goes off in search of the scotch and two glasses. When he returns, James has just lit up a fag and is standing in perfect light. Q nearly trips getting to the camera, but it’s worth it; James is still in the suit, but the cigarette and casual way he’s standing are evocative. Smoke is catching the sideways light and casting shadows on the backdrop. Q switches to Black & White mode, boosts the contrast, and takes several more. James takes a drag, tilting his head up so Q has a perfect view of that strong jaw, Adam's apple visible just above the collar, and the slight sheen on James’ skin from the heat of the studio. As he watches, James levels a gaze at Q. Not the lens, he thinks. Q himself.

Oh. _Oh._

Q swallows and steps away from the tripod, grabbing the glasses of scotch and offering one to James.

“Ta. Where do you want me?”

The question is likely professional, but there’s just a hint of the smirk Q had seen earlier, and it makes something flip in his stomach.

“Let’s move the club chair into the corner between the windows. And maybe loosen the tie. As if you’re relaxing after the negotiation.”

“Did I get what I wanted?” James asks, sliding the chair over and sprawling in it, pulling at the knot until he can unbutton the shirt collar.

“Men who lose negotiations don’t sell suits,” Q says sagely, pulling the camera off the tripod and moving closer.

“I suppose that’s true.”

He takes several shots like that, and it’s close to what he’s imagining, but not quite.

“You still look too buttoned up. We’ve done those. Let’s lose the tie and the waistcoat.”

“After you selected it so carefully?” James asks with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, but he stands to remove the offending articles. “Jacket back on?”

“Ah… yes. For now.”

James sits and leans forward on his elbows, looking up at the camera.

“Oh, that’s lovely. Yes. Wait… hold this. Cup it in both hands.” He hands James back his scotch.

It’s perfect. He looks much more relaxed. But the light is changing quickly now.

“Try leaning back… sort of slouching down in the seat with your arms resting on the chair. Good.” He takes several more shots. “And now, cross your legs… oh yes, that slight twist in your torso makes for lovely movement. The light is doing wonderful things with all the folds in your shirt and the smooth lines of the jacket. Now, look straight at me. Perfect.”

Q checks over the last few shots on the back of the screen. “Try _not_ looking at me, now. Consider the contents of your glass. That’s it. Ah, tip your head a little to the right. Perfect.” He takes several more as James shifts slightly enough not to ruin the pose, but just enough to offer Q choices. He really is a wonderful model, and Q says so.

The resulting smile isn’t anything Q has seen on the man yet. Open and self-deprecating. “My agent doesn’t agree. He says I’m not handsome enough to sell suits.”

Q huffs in irritation, raising the camera again to catch James’ expression. “You’re better than handsome. You’re interesting.”

He realizes what he’s said just as it leaves his mouth. And _bugger_.

“Not that you aren’t handsome,” he tries.

James just laughs. “You’re fine, Q. I don’t mind. And if you can get my ‘interesting’ face to sell a suit and make my agent eat crow, all the better.”

Q swallows. It’s not just James’ face that’s interesting. “We need to move you again. The light isn’t catching your face.”

“Okay.” James stands. After a seemingly deliberate pause, he asks, “Where do you want me?”

It doesn’t sound quite as professional or innocent now, but Q may well be projecting. He bites at his lip, studying the light in the room and James’ muscular form. What he _wants_ to do is unlikely to sell a suit, but he probably has what he needs for that anyway. He just wants to keep photographing James… for no good reason, really. He just wants to.

“You have an idea,” James accuses mildly.

“It’s not really for the advert. I probably have what I need for that. I should just let you go.”

He turns to find James watching him carefully, glacial blue eyes assessing. “Where do you want me?” He repeats purposefully.

Bloody hell. _So_ many places.

“Okay, I’d like… ah, could you remove your shoes and socks? I’d like you barefoot.” He moves the chair so it’s further from the windows and will catch the light on one side. James approaches a few minutes later with bare feet, unfastening a few more buttons of the shirt. “Ah, good. That’s good. Now, sit all the way at the edge of the of the seat and lean back so your head is resting on the back of the chair and your face is toward the ceiling. Good. And stretch your legs out, so we get one, long line of your body. Perfect. Yes, that’s...where’s your scotch? Here.” He hands it to James, who holds lit loosely in his hand, tipped slightly, as if he’s forgotten about it. “Good. And close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and you’re _finally_ exactly where you want to be… _perfect!”_

And it is. It’s just what he’d been imagining. The intimacy of the open collar and bare feet contrasting with the formal lines of the slacks and jacket… James’ muscular chest filling out the crisp white shirt and visible where the buttons are undone. His Adam's apple prominent. He looks powerful and strangely vulnerable. Completely gorgeous. Like artwork... sculpted marble, but with so much heat and life just below the surface.

He’s almost in silhouette when Q takes photos from one side and is bathed in a lovely soft golden light when he’s on the other. Q circles James, capturing both, moving further away and closer as the light changes and Q sees new things. James holds the pose beautifully, patient as Q chases the light and shadow, until finally, Q is standing directly behind him, shooting down the long line of James’ body with his upside-down face in the foreground and his bare feet in the distance. Q hasn’t even imagined this view, but it is stunning. James’ features are relaxed, almost as if Q really were catching him unaware. Q adjusts the aperture to experiment with focal length, trying a few shots where James will be entirely in focus, followed by a series trimming that length down until James’ face, broad shoulders, and muscular chest are in focus, and the rest of his body blurs in the distance. James’ mouth is slightly open now, and his breathing has deepened, expanding his chest noticeably with every inhalation. There’s an… _awareness_ in his features that wasn’t there before, and it’s fascinating. Q shifts his angle for the next shot, hoping the camera is capturing what he’s seeing, when James abruptly opens his eyes, looking directly into Q’s lens. Arctic blue pins him in place. Q snaps the photo.

Oh _fuck_ , he is beautiful. Q feels a jolt of desire that goes straight to his cock. He’s _never_ moved by models anymore, but he suddenly wants James desperately.

“Am I?”

Q blinks. He _couldn’t_ have said James is beautiful aloud. That would be too much to bear.

“Are you what?” Q asks, feigning innocence.

“Interesting?”

Q swallows. _Hell yes_ , James is interesting. But Q’s not sure just what he means.

“Because I find you _quite_ interesting,” James continues. “Fascinating, in fact.”

Q removes the camera from in front of his face and looks at James without it. Without the usual buffer between himself and the world. It’s a little frightening, to be honest, but invigorating. He meets James' unwavering eyes, and then can’t help but scan the rest of his form, surprised to find a bulge forming in those finely tailored trousers. He really wants a picture of it, but thinks he might be allowed something better.

“And I have some ideas of where I’d like you,” James continues.

It’s a cheesy line, really, but that doesn’t stop a little gasp from escaping Q’s lips.

“But dinner first, I think. I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to seduce you for product placement, or to advance my career.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, your career will do just fine without seducing me.”

“That’s kind of you, but doesn’t answer my question.” He reaches up and hooks a finger around Q’s wrist, tugging at him until he walks around to James’ side and they can look at each other properly, not inverted. And of course, Q’s bulge is as obvious as James’. No hiding behind anything, now.

“I do find you interesting, but dinner might be problematic.”

“How so?”

“I can’t let you go anywhere in that suit. Remember? I promised to return it to the client when I delivered the proofs.”

James smirks. “Well, it so happens I brought a change of clothes, for just such an occasion.”

“You anticipated this?”

“Not in the least. Your reputation is for such talent and efficiency, I scarcely expected five minutes with you. I certainly didn’t anticipate what it would feel like to have your undivided attention on me while I reclined with my eyes closed in an otherwise empty studio.”

Q licks his lips. Put that way, it sounds rather intimate. “How did it make you feel?”

“Worthy of your attention,” James answers. “Aroused, obviously. Curious about what you were seeing. What you were thinking. Greedy for more.”

It’s hard to believe this stunning man is looking at Q with such open interest, but Q reads body language for a living, and can tell it’s genuine.

“I think I could photograph you for hours,” Q says, addressing James’ first statement. “And I’m not unaffected by you either, as you can see. I can _show_ you what I was seeing, if you’re really interested. And I think… dinner sounds lovely.”

James smiles. “Are we done with the light yet, or are you still wanting to chase whatever it is you were seeing?

Q bites his lip and eyes James’ chest.

The man has the audacity to laugh as he unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way. He pulls it out of the trousers and lets it hang loosely from his shoulders. “Where do you want me?”

“At some point, you’re going to regret that question, because my mind keeps coming up with more and more answers,” Q says as he raises the camera to his face and focuses on James’ open expression and torso, which are half-illuminated by the window.

Years later, it would be one of Q’s favorite pictures. And James would still be asking that question with no regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
